Costs and Compromises
by starry19
Summary: 5x21 Tag - "It was a strange and unusual situation, knowing something that Jane didn't. It was surprisingly difficult to not barge up to the attic and tell him. At all costs, she resisted using the phrase "hold her tongue." Not a sentence she could utter now, possibly not ever again. "


**AN:** Is the finale this week? Really? I'm not sure how to deal with this! I also wasn't sure how, exactly, to write this tag, since technically Red Velvet Cupcakes came _after_ Red and Itchy, so I just sort of winged it. Hope you enjoy!

**Costs and Compromises**

It was a strange and unusual situation, knowing something that Jane didn't. At least, she didn't think he did, and he'd been fairly honest with her lately.

Which, for Jane, was definitely saying something.

He'd denied knowing what was in LaRoche's tupperware container, and she believed him. Only now she knew. And Jane had formally requested radio silence for a week.

It was surprisingly difficult to not barge up to the attic and tell him. At all costs, she resisted using the phrase "hold her tongue." Not a sentence she could utter now, possibly not ever again.

She took a moment to wonder what a tongue looked like after nine years, and then wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Did it _matter_ if it was vacuum sealed or freeze dried or just a shriveled up piece of tissue? And she certainly had no business thinking that it would have been a better idea to keep it in the refrigerator.

Sighing, she put her head on her desk. Jane had been holed up for just a few days, and she was already losing her mind. At least he was just upstairs, just a matter of moments away, not off somewhere in the great unknown. When she remembered what life had been like last year, there was great comfort to be found in that thought.

Still, she missed him. Again, like when he had left for Vegas, she was forced to acknowledge how much she relied on him, how often she looked for him to bounce ideas off of, or how soothing just his presence on the couch in the bullpen could be.

It was horrible, but she found herself wishing someone would get murdered just so she could divert her attention elsewhere. She hurriedly crossed herself after such a thought. Again.

In the back of her mind (and sometimes in the front), she wondered if Jane missed her at all. If these days were half as long and as miserable for him as they were for her.

Honestly, she doubted it. Jane had a way of behaving when he thought he was close to Red John that effectively blocked out everything else in the world, including her. And there was no doubt that he thought he was close this time.

She hoped for his sake that he was right. At the same time, she didn't trust a thing Lorelei Martins had ever told him, worried that Jane was putting far too much faith in the mistress of a serial killer who had been sent to seduce him.

Even if Lorelei _had_ accused Jane of staying at the CBI because he was in love with her.

But that wasn't something she felt like bringing up to herself, even now. In the span of about a week, Jane himself had told her he loved her, and then the sentiment had been echoed by Lorelei. It was too strange and too bizarre to process coherently, so she had pushed it aside, hidden it beneath her anger and skepticism.

She had also hidden her jealousy there.

And, by God, that's where it was going to stay. There was no point in being jealous of a dead woman, especially one whose death Jane had dismissed in a chillingly brusque manner.

With another overly dramatic sigh, she shoved thoughts Jane's _lover_ aside.

Instead, she considered what their next steps were going to be when Jane bothered to come out of the attic. Yes, she was quite sure he had his own (admittedly excellent) ways of investigating people, but she wanted to help. Jane, for all of his skill, sometimes looked at computers as though they might explode if he pushed the wrong button, and she wasn't sure if he even knew how to send an e-mail. Some days, she was just impressed he knew how to text message.

He was going to need her knowledge, her access to files. The trick was going to be going about this process in a way that didn't raise any red flags. By now, she believed Jane when he said they were watched, that Red John had contacts and friends in the FBI. In some of her darker hours, she admitted he probably had a mole in the CBI as well. It was distinctly unsettling, and there were a great many days when she bitterly regretted drinking the proverbial Kool-Aid.

The question was: who was going to make the cut, as far as suspects were concerned? Months ago, he had told her some random names that he hadn't eliminated yet.

Of course, she constantly reminded herself, only one of the names was a serial killer. The rest were (mostly) innocent people that had simply come into contact with Jane at one point or another, mainly through coincidence or just the course of life.

Still, she was seeing suspects everywhere, untrustworthy faces around every corner.

It was driving her nuts. She didn't live her life like this.

Yes, she was an officer of the law, so a great deal of suspicion came naturally, especially since people were constantly lying to her. But she was reaching new heights of paranoia, and some days it made her want to run away screaming.

Without Jane constantly distracting her, she had also noticed a few things more concrete than vaguely unsettling feelings about the people in the CBI.

Rigsby and Van Pelt were back together. As keen eyed as she was lately, it wasn't all that surprising that she had picked up on it.

She decided almost instantly to not say anything. Her team was her team; they worked like a well-oiled unit, and she was damned if she was going to split them up simply because regulations told her to.

Besides, the first time they were together, there had been absolutely no issues until they had broken up. That had lead to Craig O'Laughlin, and the bullet wound in her shoulder reminded her of how_ that_ had ended.

And she would be a bit of hypocrite, too.

It had taken her years to admit it to herself, but she had finally acknowledged that what she felt for Jane went beyond the bounds of friendship.

She knew, if Jane made the first move, that she would happily throw the rules under the bus without a second thought. She wasn't brave enough to cross that line, not yet, not until she was certain she wouldn't be pushed away.

There were times when she thought she knew, but then something would come up and he would get that look in his eyes that told her he was a million miles away. Or the light would catch the gold circlet on his finger, and she would be reminded that he was still bound to the memory of someone else.

In time, she hoped they would be able to...not move past that, but to work around it, maybe. She didn't expect Jane to ever really get over Angela. There were times when that made her very sad- she was decidedly in love with a man who was still deeply committed to his long-dead wife.

But that was Jane, though, and there was no changing him. You either took him as he was, with the secrecy, the occasional lying, the emotional baggage that would cause most people to run screaming in the other direction, and you loved him anyway. Or you didn't. She once heard the phrase, 'we like _because_, we love _although_.' She figured it applied pretty well to her own life.

_Although_ there were so many things about Jane that were off-putting or blazing red flags, the flashes of the man he used to be, still was underneath all of the grief and anger and vengeance, were so fascinating that she had been sucked in before she had even realized what was happening.

And by the time she had, it was far too late. She was stuck now, committed fully to what may or may not have been a completely one-sided relationship.

It was what it was, however, and lamenting about her own personal stupidity wasn't going to change a thing at this late hour.

And it was definitely a late hour, both figuratively and literally.

Her computer screen told her it was well after midnight, but she thought she was far too wired to go home and rest.

She snorted. Rest.

Sure.

Lay in bed and wonder what Jane was doing, more likely.

And speaking of Jane...

The footsteps in the hall gave it away. He had finally come down, though she was sure he hadn't expected anyone to still be here.

Instinctively, she rose from her chair, but sat back down almost immediately. She had promised him space, and she would give it to him, even if it killed her.

Instead, she peeked out of her half-closed blinds, searching in the dim light for a glimpse of bright gold curls. After a few moments, she found them, predictably digging through a cupboard for tea bags.

It felt unbelievably good to see him, but she forced herself to tear her eyes away. She wasn't a voyeur or some crazy person, reduced to sneaking glances at the man she loved when he wasn't looking.

Forcefully, she pulled a form out of her inbox and sat in front of her, rereading the same line a dozen times, knowing all the while that this wasn't going to work, but refusing to give up on it just the same.

The soft knock on her door was so unexpected that she jumped.

A moment later, Jane pushed the door open, cup of tea in one hand, looking rumpled and unshaven and (she had to admit) outrageously sexy.

She stopped that train of thought as fast as she could.

"What on earth are you doing here so late?" Jane asked, expression half exasperated, half warm. His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't been using it much lately. She supposed that was true.

She held up her form. "Working," she said, as though that should have been obvious.

Jane raised his eyebrows, still leaning casually against the doorframe. "You should be home, asleep," he told her, and she noted the shadows under his eyes, harshly highlighted in the glow of her desk lamp

"Speak for yourself," she retorted brusquely. "Besides, I have things to do."

His lips quirked in a half smile as he entered her office fully, going to his usual spot on her couch. Her heart quickened a touch, and she felt a rush of pleasure that he was apparently going to stay for a while.

"You look awful," she added, after he was seated, and his smile became full-blown.

"Thanks, Lisbon," he said. "I knew I could count on you to prop my self-esteem up."

She shrugged. "I thought you weren't speaking to anyone for the next three days?" she asked, wondering what she was doing. Was she trying to chase him off?

He stretched his legs out in front of him. "I didn't intend to," he admitted, "but I didn't expect you to be here still." He took a breath. "I missed you, and I have poor impulse control this time of night." He held his free hand up in a gesture of helplessness.

She hoped her cheeks didn't color. He missed her.

"I'm glad," she murmured eventually. "I missed you, too."

His expression was soft now, and she tried to burn the look into her memory.

They were quiet then, each simply content with the other's presence. She managed to fill out her form, the normalcy of Jane drinking tea on her couch allowing her to focus properly. She had no idea what was going through his mind, but if he found even a small measure of peace and comfort from being with her, she would be grateful.

When his cup was empty, he stood, regretfully she hoped, and she knew he was going to disappear again.

"See you in three days," she said, and it almost sounded like a question.

He nodded, slowly crossing the room until he was at her side. "Yes," he said. "Three days."

She sucked in a small breath. "I assume the previous rules still apply? No contact of any kind, for any reason?"

He smiled a touch. "Well, I might make an exception for a full-blown emergency, but other than that, radio silence has to continue. Even from you." His eyes were impossibly deep in the warm light. "Especially from you. You're very distracting."

She didn't bother hiding the affection in her stare. She was too tired for that. "Three days," she repeated, making it sound a little like a warning.

To her surprise, Jane leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly. She could feel the brush of his stubble across her lips as he pulled back.

"It'll be worth it, I promise," he whispered, and she wondered what, precisely, he was referring to. Her heart gave her one answer, and her mind gave her another.

As he left, she decided it didn't really matter.

She lightly touched two fingers to her cheek, still burning with the phantom warmth of his kiss.

It was already worth it.


End file.
